Gabriella Boucau Whore ❤️

About Bordeaux

Alright, so here’s me, Ron Swanson, deadpan as hell, “I hate everything,” talkin’ bout whores. Yeah, whores—gritty, real, been around forever. I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout “The Turin Horse,” my damn favorite movie—Béla Tarr, Ágnes Hranitzky, 2011. That slow, bleak masterpiece. Whores fit right in that world—dusty, worn-out, no nonsense. Like the horse in the flick, just takin’ it, day after day. “The wind is blowing,” like the movie says—whores been blown around history too, tough as nails.

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Surrounded by Bayonne, Anglet and Tarnos, Boucau is 4 km north-west of Bayonne, the largest city of the surrounding region. The city sits 11 metres above sea level, and the Adour river .

Boucau, fr, is not perfect. Streets are cracked, walls wear scars—each one tells a story, our stories. I’ve had days when the code of life just wouldn’t debug, and I’d wander these maze-like avenues, feeling like WALL-E, lost but hopeful. Sometimes life is chaotic. Sometimes, you just gotta growl, “You merely adopted the dark!” Embrace it, you know?

Enhancing antibody responses by multivalent antigen display on thymus-independent DNA origami scaffolds